


All I Want for Christmas Is You

by Wyrdmazer



Series: Translated Works [6]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Cursed Child - Thorne & Rowling
Genre: Christmas Fluff, Christmas Presents, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Fluff, Fluff and Crack, M/M, Oranges, Post-Hogwarts, Scorbus, Too much fluff, actually it's mainly pre-christmas, and bad humor, christmas cheesiness, pure fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-10
Updated: 2018-03-10
Packaged: 2019-03-29 15:17:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13929777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wyrdmazer/pseuds/Wyrdmazer
Summary: You may keep asking ten thousand questions,and you'll almost always be my answer.But let's celebrate, enjoying the tangible differentfrom the warmth of our simple intimacy.After all, this is a delightfully exceptional occasion!





	All I Want for Christmas Is You

As I enter our dining-kitchen area, the view that I encounter inevitably forces out of my lips a question that, it seems, has already become a tradition of this small (but nonetheless key) fraction of the Potter/Malfoy family that we create.

"Why don't you just use your wand?"

My hands land on the sandy worktop with a noble grace that only a Malfoy seems to be able to master.

"For the same reason as each and every one of the past twenty-something times you had asked me exactly the same question, love."

"Which is?"

The corner of my mouth quirks into a smile. I'm teasing you and we both know it well; and yet this unwritten play seems to never get old.

_Ah, the miracle of life..._

" _Which is_ that you'll have to recall. And better start training your memory outside of the school, because it looks to me," another orange lands, naked, in a bowl, "that it's declining."

I purr: a sound that only imitates dissatisfaction.

And I know you've learned my vocal repertoire too well to be fooled.

"I am almost jealous, you know?" My voice is cool silks when I stand right behind you, my arms wrapping themselves around your chest. I stare at your fingers cleverly undressing yet another orange.

"And why is that?" Your tone mimics mine.

_We are intriguingly compatible._

"Oh, because it is with such _care_ ," I wish you could see how I raise my eyebrows in this specific moment, accentuating the word, "that you're peeling these oranges... It's almost _intimate_."

I drawl.

As you laugh, a distant part of me wonders if there's a chance that some microscopic drop of your saliva landed on an orange.

"Regret that you didn't see their bath. I flooded them with such tenderness..."

Your body is shaking and it infects mine. You're laughing. You're laughing and it's indecently childish, but I want to swat you on the head (lightly).

Instead, I reach out with my hand so that my long fingers can wrap around one of the peeled oranges. I detach myself from you to divide the aromatic fruit into quarters; three-quarters have a safe landing back in the bowl with their friends.

(Oranges are interestingly feminine creations of nature...)

The remaining last will soon meet the road to its acidic destination, as I grip it comfortably and suck one end into my mouth.

I walk over to the second part of the kitchen to watch, in the company of the juicy sweetness, as you're preparing more oranges. The quiet sounds of wetness filling my lips are intertwined with the relaxing sound of the fruit being peeled off.

_You're working like a healer with many years of experience._

At some point, my sour-sweet-delicacy-enchanted consciousness notes that the relaxing sound ceased, and your hands rest frozen on the edge of the bowl.

I look up, letting my eyes rest on your face.

I don't know how I look right now because I have never had the opportunity or need to watch myself doing this kind of things, but if my eating of an orange is half as delightful a picture as the one you're making yourself when you're doing similar things, I am not surprised that you're giving me such undivided attention.

"For Merlin's sake, Scorpius. You seriously _like_ doing this, don't you?"

"Doing what?" I ask innocently, adorning the sentence with subtly raised eyebrows.

I would honestly count on something less ineloquent than a shake of your head.

(Alright, it's still just a part of our little fun game in heedless adult-wannabe graduates).

"Yeah..." I have an unexpected need to switch the mode of operation. "So, Al, what would you want for Christmas?"

"Oh. A sudden change of tracks?"

I give a smirk for a smirk.

"Indeed. Play with me, love" I purr, getting back onto delivering pieces of orange to my unexpectedly thirsty body.

Still in that same not too quiet, not too couth manner.

"Ah. Hmm..." You pretend to be thinking. I know you're pretending. I know you already know the answer. I do not know what this answer will be, though (is telepathy in close relationships an overrated thing, or is it just that you constantly surprise me? Or maybe I just prefer caution instead of playing a self-proclaimed clairvoyant). "You know, since you're proposing, I will not try to resist."

I roll my eyes.

 _It's Christmas_ , Al. My question is _merely_ a proposition; it is an element of the rule-following that I've been taught regarding this exceptional period of the year.

"Well?" I push you in the desired direction, carelessly using my finger to wipe away a trickle of juice that scampered away on its way to my throat and decided to trickle down my chin. Most likely, towards the floor.

No way I would clean that one up. One... small... sweet-sour droplet.

An orange one, on top of that.

"Oh, nothing too big. Doesn't have to be. It's the gesture that it's all about, after all, isn't it? And to be honest, everything I could want, I already have."

_Warm... warm... Cuddly-snuggly..._

In this very specific moment, wide smile just loves my face _too much_.

"So yeah, but if you insist..." You put down the freshly peeled orange and reach for the next one. A final one. "My one-item wishlist is... a bit of a cliche, you'll admit, but... not something specific, although... something special." A piece of orange zest lands on the pile of similar pieces resting innocently on the worktop. "Small but significant." Another piece joins it. "Something that would remind me of you." The orange has lost half of its clothing. _Mmm, that smell..._ "Something from the heart. Something funny... maybe. Just something, you know, sentimental."

I lick my fingers after the orange that is already resting in my hot entrails, when my thinking switches to a slightly higher than usual speed (just slightly). I bite my lip, searching for an idea...

_A-ha!_

"I will write you a fanfiction then," I announce in a tone that sounds too matter-of-factly even to my own ears.

"What?" you ask dumbly, as if losing the non-peculiar brio that's been clinging to your aura non-stop since the morning.

"What 'what'? You _don't know_ what fanfiction is?" An indecently overdramatized question.

"Um, I do not think so." You shake your head with a nonchalant expression on your handsome features.

"Uuu, Al. Albus Severus. How are you not ashamed."

"Why, it's some Muggle thing, isn't it?"

Something in that face that you're just making, I find it curiously enjoyable. Furrowed eyebrows kind of add a drop of cool shrewdness to your usually warm and friendly face.

It's intriguingly attractive.

"It is indeed. More specifically – and I'm quoting from a trusted source here – 'a story created unofficially by the fans of a movie, a book, a TV series, etc.' – in this case, by me, as your... well, fan – 'using characters and the world from the original work' – in this case, using you and me and the real world. Hmm, most likely the real world. Because it is possible that, in the end, I will decide to let my imagination run free... you know. However," I raise my finger, emphasizing the sentence, "it is only a potential possibility that does not have any guarantee of existence."

You stare at me for about seven and four-fifths of a second, before:

"Yeah, fanfiction. Why not."

"Excellent." I clap to my verbal satisfaction. "So we have it set by default then. And now I will tell you what I would like you to give me." And kindly spare you the effort of producing a question.

"Just nothing of a similar sort."

Oh... yeah. You don't have to worry: I know you long and well enough to know that writing is not, after all, one of your favorite activities.

Personally, I don't understand this aversion ( _but everyone's different!_ , throws in my eternally chattering mind).

"Oh, no no, fear not. I will allow you to try exercise your creativity, albeit in a safe scale. I'll just tell you that this something, I'd like it to be... unique. And, preferably, personalized. Even to a fault." After a moment of reflection, I add, "But you know what, ultimately, whatever you give me, I'll be content. Even more ultimately, though, all I really need is you. So... However," I emphasise the sentence with my raised finger again, "do not take it as an exemption from the tradition of giving Christmas presents. Because, Al, it would be nice, very, very, to get something from you on Christmas; you know, sentimental value. So, anything, basically, just not nothing."

The smile that's playing on your lips is simply delightful.

I would grab a camera now.

"Oooh, you know, I think I already have an idea."

"Is that so?" I can't help but wonder if you've thought about it before too. "Wonderful! Now just manage it before Christmas."

(We have nice three weeks...)

"Worry not, Scor. If only you won't insist on distracting me with other Christmas-related stuff, I should have exactly the _satisfactory_ amount of time."

"Oh," I sigh with only half-feigned longing, "time ... A mysterious invention that never has enough free _will_ to want to cooperate with its innocent victims! Poor us, poor us... I'll make you some hot tea, yeah?"

You nod, and in your smile cheerfulness is making love with confusion.

_I think I would be scared of the children of such a couple..._

**Author's Note:**

> So this is a translation of the first chapter of my "Wszystko czego chcę na święta, to ty". I guess I'll translate the next two chapters when I post them in the original version of the fic. I don't know yet. We'll see. I mean, if nobody will enjoy this, then what would be the point, right? :P Although I do like translating my works.  
> Anyway. Let me know what you think. :)


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